


Sunrises and Stethoscopes

by Maura_Moo



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoptive Parent Medda Larkson | Medda Larkin, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxious David Jacobs, Artist Jack Kelly, Autistic David Jacobs, Badass Sarah Jacobs (Newsies), Bisexual David Jacobs, Bisexual Disaster Jack Kelly, Bisexual Jack Kelly, Canon Trans Character, Cora Higgins is adopted, Deaf Racetrack Higgins, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Fuck Cannon, Gay Racetrack Higgins, Good Boyfriend Spot Conlon, Italian Racetrack Higgins, Jack Kelly Being an Idiot, Jewish David Jacobs, Let Crutchie Say Fuck, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Mentioned Les Jacobs, Mentioned Sarah Jacobs (Newsies), Multi, Oblivious David Jacobs, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Medda Larkson | Medda Larkin, Pining David Jacobs, Pining Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins and Jack Kelly Are Like Siblings, Read, Sad Jack Kelly, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Soft Spot Conlon, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, To Read, Trans Racetrack Higgins, badass Crutchie, cora higgins and jack kelly are siblings, dyslexic writer, nobody is straight in newsies, oc fic, the newsies need a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maura_Moo/pseuds/Maura_Moo
Summary: The New Year never brought much for anyone or anything. It brought chilly cold weather that dragged the blood into the tips of uncovered ears and exposed fingertips. The New Year brought ice and fog that clung deeply to the darkness of the mornings. But for the workers in and around Pulitzer General Hospital- the new year can bring something so much more than darkness and chills.THE AGES ARE NOT CONCISE WITH HOW LONG THEY WOULD HAVE SPENT IN MEDICAL SCHOOL BUT FUCK REALISM.I can't summerise. Please read.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Finch (Newsies), Crutchie/Jack Kelly, Davey Jacobs/Original female character, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 14
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

The New Year never brought much for anyone or anything. It brought chilly cold weather that dragged the blood into the tips of uncovered ears and exposed fingertips. The New Year brought ice and fog that clung deeply to the darkness of the mornings. 

The New Year brought nothing more than mist and disappointment. Just because the calendar re-started anew everything in Jack Kelly’s life was the same. He was still startled awake by his multitude of alarms, woke up in the same unmade, somewhat clean bed in the same messy childlike bedroom in the same Lower Manhattan apartment. He still padded barefoot along the hallway to brush his teeth in the same cracked tilted bathroom, using the two minutes to stare idly at the mould growing in the corner of the shower, wondering if it had become sentient and moved throughout the night. 

Once dressed, he props himself on the same counter to annoy the same roommate he’s had for the past five years. 

“Mornin Higgins.” He chirps happily, eyes and voice too awake for the early morning still untouched by sunlight. 

“Morning Kelly.” She quips back, thrusting tiredly the same chipped mug into his eagerly awaiting hands. 

Cora Higgins: Jack’s best friend and little sister since the age of 15, tugs her hoodie over her head before cautiously cupping a warm mug between her sleeve covered hands. Their apartment is always cold in the mornings, it doesn't affect Jack but it gets deep into her shoulder and scars. He watches as she stretches her legs in front of her and rolls her ankles, smiling satisfied when they pop. “Whatdya wanna eat?” 

“Waffles” Jack’s heels drum against the cabinet below him in a rhythmically childish fashion that would annoy Cora if it wasn’t the only thing he did in the morning. She watches him from the corner of her eye as he picks at the chip with his nail, either wondering why he has a chipped cup or trying to glue invisible shards back together, before gulping down his coffee without pausing for breath. “Go, go make my breakfast” Jack waves his hand dismissively but playfully. 

“Ya missin a word dere Kelly” She playfully snaps back, once again rolling her eyes at his exaggerated movements and mock confusion, they played this game every morning and it never failed to put a fond, if not a little annoyed smile on her face. 

“Peasant?” 

Jack yelps, dramatically grasping at his shoulder as Cora punches him on her way to the fridge. She pulls out the batter from yesterday morning's breakfast and tosses it quickly into the machine closing it, its hinges moaning and squeaking in protest. Her fingers tap soundlessly against the china of her pale blue mug as she leans against the counter. 

“Ya ready for today?” 

“Nope?” Jack more so asks confused than states confidently. He looks confused as his eyes follow the smoke billow like half-hidden clouds from the waffle maker, it's an old hand-me-down from his aunt and he’s always surprised that it doesn’t explode every time it’s used. He looks back over at Cora seconds later when she once again rolls her eyes and eyes the half-empty fridge for fresh fruit. 

“Ya job..yknow the reason why ya set like a thousand alarms for this mornin” She gestures at his phone, buzzing widely with another alarm. He smiles bashfully before silencing his phone and hopping off the counter and strolling over to the sink. “Ya shoulda washed da dishes from last night, dat was ya chore”

“Ehhhh, I was busy!” He scoops a plate out the sink and picks questioningly at the sauce stain on the corner, “when did we last have Chinese?” Jack asks, flicking the sauce off his finger with his thumb. The waffle machine beeps and Cora closes the door with her hip, hands full with a punnet of strawberries.

They eat in silence, the only sound being the crunching of slightly burnt waffles and the squirting of the half-empty syrup bottle that Jack bashes against the table stubbornly. Apologising with a strawberry when Cora flinches away. Once sure it's empty, he tosses it over his shoulder, it bounces against the rim of the trashcan before rolling off the side and settling on the floor. Jack’s shoulders drop. “Fuck” 

“Ya gonna pick that up?” His housemate quizzed, mouth half-full of waffle. When Jack shrugs half-heartedly, Cora kicks him in the leg under the table, chuckling when he whines. With a grumble, Jack steals the strawberry back. It's his turn to chuckle when Cora frowns. It stays for a split second before her face cracks into a tired half-smile. 

With the dirty plates discarded into the sink, yet again going unwashed by Jack and the empty syrup bottle thrown into the recycling Jack gathers his supplies and leaves the apartment.

Fog floats slowly off the air like tired smoke off the end of dying, half-snuffed out cigarettes. It clings to the air and Jack feels his face soak red with windburn. His hands tuck deeper into the jacket pockets. There’s almost a hint of childish wonder in his eyes as he strolls through the streets, shadows dancing down alleyways and across the streets as the sunrises.

Jack crosses over the street and pauses, pink cheeks turned to the sun as he stares up at Cora’s coffee shop, It stands out like a sore thumb against the larger chains; its small almost homely with a careful wood floor and pale cream walls, dainty watercolour pictures adorning the walls in soft brown frames. If he focuses hard-enough Jack can pick up on the phantom scent of fresh bread and sour coffee and melting chocolate. He grins, proud of what his little sister has accomplished while she's grown before leaning off the wall and continuing on his way out the rapidly busying new york streets and into the crowded hallways of Pulitzer General hospital.

He smiles at the doctors filtering through the corridors, a flurry of blues and green filtered past him quickly like rats that scampered up his drainpipe every winter. He squirms and shimmies out their way, bag flying as he pirouetted into the lift, quickly stepping out the way.

“Mornin’ doc” Jack tips his cap, a cheeky grin on his face. 

The doctor looks up with tired eyes, a stack of files pressed close to his chest. He blinks awkwardly for a few seconds before nodding and turning quickly on his heel and wandering away, mumbling something under his breath that Jack didn’t quite understand. 

He hovers awkwardly in the lift with six other people, all with weary eyes and large cups of coffee held between lethargic hands. Jack bounced along with the elevator music, sighing when the doors opened and the people filtered out, knocking him around slightly as they rushed onto the ward. 

He fixes the backpack around his shoulder and straightens his cap. Walking the short distance until the large doors of Clyde Barrow ward stood towering over him from the fixed doorframe. A chill goes through his body and Jack rolls his eyes, almost fed up with his own nervousness. Hospitals were never his favourite place to be. Even if he was making them a little bit more interesting for the people stuck in the wards.

He knocks on the door with his knuckles before pressing the intercom to the side. It buzzes and a voice crackles out. “Clyde Barrow ward?”

“Hey yeah, Ise here to paint da walls…” He mumbles awkwardly, nails tapping awkwardly against the cold metal of the intercom, it cracks and Jack feels it vibrate through his head. 

“Nobody paints on the walls of my wards”

Jack recognises the voice instantly and he chuckles with a grin. “Not even me Miss Medda?” 

The door swings open and he’s pulled into a quick but bone-crushingly tight hug. He chuckles and hugs back, “Jack Kelly, my man of mystery. Come, come. Have you signed in?” She scribbles his name into a book and tosses a lanyard around his neck. He grins as Medda directs him to the wall he needs to paint.

There’s something mildly morbid about a surgical ward being named after half of the most famous criminals in all of America. Jack would have named it something, less terrifying. Something stupid, like duckling ward. He is mildly settled by the fact that most children on the ward don’t know who Clyde Barrow is and is thus safe. They stare at him as he wanders deeper into a ward and spreads his painting tarp under him. 

“Heyo..sir?” a voice startles Jack and he turns, coming face to face with wide brown eyes and a toothy smile. “My mama says ya aint allowed to paint on the walls” The child points with a cannulated hand at Jacks paints, spread already against his tarp. 

The child's inquisitive eyes and wandering hands makes Jack chuckle, bending down and placing a comforting hand on his shoulders. There was always something so fascinating about how children saw the world and Jack could sit for hours listening to children telling stories about their achievements. “Ya see kiddo, I got special permission from the boss to paint the wall” 

“Woah!” the child gasps, sitting down when Jack crosses his legs. His gown fans out around his legs and Jack grins, “ya think ya could paint a rocket ship?” 

He holds a paintbrush up, one eye squinted closed as he turns it in his hands. It makes the little boy at his side laugh “ya know what kiddo? I thinks I could. Jus for you” He pokes the child softly with the end of the paintbrush. “What’s ya name Lil one?” 

“Henry...I'm here cause my heart don't work too good” He taps Jack on the chest, just above his heart. “It's got all holes in..like my grandpa's socks!” 

“I’m sorry Henry,” Jack says sincerely, patting his head. “Ya wanna wear my hat?” When the child nods, Jack removes his cap and settles it on the child's head. They laugh when it falls over his eyes. “And if ya grandpa’s socks didn't have holes in, he wouldn't be able to get his feet in” Henry erupts with laughter and Jack can't help the soft smile that spreads across his face. 

“How old are ya kid?” Jack asks, cracking open tins of paint with a messy screwdriver. Placing the lids and open cans against the wall, far away from the child's nosy hands. 

Henry seems to think for a few seconds before holding up four fingers. “Five!” 

He grins toothlessly when Jack chuckles and whispers

“Woah! Ya sucha big boy! I'm twenty-two”

“Your oldddddddddddddd!” Jack laughs again, faking being hurt before a lady stands up and scoops Henry into her arms. He waits for her to yell at him, to accuse him of something but the woman simply thanks him for making her son smile before handing Jack back his cap and walking back into a room around the corner. 

With a smile, Jack looks down at his cap before turning back to the wall. With an affirming nod, he agrees with himself. 

A rocket ship would look great on this wall. 

Jack loves kids. They see the good in the world and in the people too. They don’t judge the scrawny twenty two year old that sits by them. They settle and listen to him talk and ramble and sing off-key as he paints. Children are a lot more accepting and he’s almost proud to be making the hospital stay a little easier. Part of him is a little envious of the innocence in the children's eyes. Angry and desperate for that same feeling of childhood innocence he had lost so many years ago. He shakes his head and sighs. 

Children are little specks of magic in the world and Jack is glad to be making them better. Sure, he's not mending hearts or sewing together broken limbs, but hopefully, he's making them smile through the hard moments. 

Or the last moments. His brain adds almost spitefully. 

Jack simply plugs in his headphones and starts to sketch out the idea. He doodles out a simple design; a cartoon rocket ship floating endlessly in the warm, dark blues and purples of space, white and yellow stars stand clear and bright against the background and a red planet wraps around the corner. Satisfied, he scoops up his brushes, turns his music up and starts painting. 

He thinks about Henry while he paints, wondering if the child will like the painting when it's finished. So many of his drawings and creations bring joy to the world and if this is his legacy; then he's damn proud for it to be. He will live on in the simple smiles and stories from old patients and proud parents. 

It takes hours and 58 songs but finally the last coat of protective sill slides off his brush and onto the wall and Jack leans back on his heels to look over his work. He blinks, wiping sweat from his brow. “Lookin good Jack Kelly” he praises himself, removing a headphone and tossing the brush into a half-full cup of dirty water. His music echoes from his headphones and it keeps him connected to the world as he ties up his stuff and tosses it all back into his backpack, tossing it over his shoulder to walk into the toilets to scrub his hands.

Flakes of paint fall into the sink and down the drain and Jack smiles, flexing tired fingers. The hot water from the faucet helps soften the callus and sores on Jacks hands and relaxes blistered and sore fingers. His legs ache and Jack can't wait for a hot coffee and a comfortable seat at the back of Cora’s coffee shop. His macchiato and pastry hover so closely that he can almost feel the warm coffee swirling around his tongue and the buttery, flakey pastry melting in his mouth. 

Just enough time to tell Medda and collect his payment and next task for next week and then off he goes, through the streets of Manhattan and into the slice of quiet in the busy street of Sherwood park drive. The water runs cold and Jack jumps, pulling his hands away and wiping them down his shirt to dry them. 

His feet echo slowly on the large, empty corridors. For a few seconds, Jack hovers with his face to a wall as if plotting his next painting. Pictures swirl in his head like unmixed paint-staining corners of his mind with messy illustrations. The ticking of the clock suddenly captures his attention and he presses his lips into a thin, thinking line. 

Where would Medda be? He wondered before turning on his toes and following the pawprints under his feet. Jack hopped from print to print, hard-toes shoes knocking against the polished floor with a sound that was anything but gentle. He presumed that the first place to start looking for Medda was her office.

Which was on the other side of the hospital ward. Jack stopped jumping then, feeling a chill wash over him. Clyde Barrow ward had fallen to an almost deathly silence. His warm brown eyes scan across the LED-light speckled hallways, the nurses sit talking and chatting at the nurse’s station, heads bowed and eyes scanning paperwork or fingers drumming hard and furious against tired, faded keyboards. Parents sat in the Parents Longue, leaning against counters and tired armchairs, chatting and relaxing with cups of tea and coffee in hand. Some blink at Jack others ignore him, one asks him where his folks where- Jack replies with a sneer and a grumble of “ ‘m twenty-two” under his breath as he turns a corner.

A single light captures his eyes. It's dimmer and shines almost like an angels halo against the bright artificial lights of the corridors. It barely registers in Jack's nervous brain as he flits his eyes down either wall, tracing the faded lines of his older murals. If he focuses on something of his then maybe he’ll forget that he’s somewhere adrift in the hospital ward. The one place where Jack feels like his scars stand out like thick red lines under the fabric of his shirtsleeve. 

The light bathes him and disappears as Jack walks past. There’s a squeak of his sneakers against the marble floor as he stops. Quickly, he slides back to stand in the light of the angel’s halo that captured his eye. He trails his eyes over the soft curve of his face, over the messy blonde waves and the glitter scattering his freckled cheeks. Soft green-grey eyes scan over a faded book that if Jack squints, he can see the cracked spine reading ‘Cinderella’. 

Children sit around the angel on earth; all with legs crossed and cuddled up on beanbags and chairs, some still connected to their IV’s, snuggled under blankets with arms and hands poking out as they lean over the sides of their beds. 

Jack stares at the scene, this picture-perfect pied piper situation and feels his heart begin to swell. Blood rushes to his face and it’s only when he feels a thousand pairs of eyes on him does he look away from the man in front of him. “Excuse me, sir?” 

Even his voice was the sweetest sound, beating any sound jack had ever heard. “Sir? Are you looking for your child?” The man asks again, confused face breaking into a bright smile. 

Jack feels his legs trembling under his jeans.

“I-” any words die on his tongue. “Dszahdh-” and with that Jack turns on his legs and leaves quickly, knocking into the wall while he does so. 

He listens, perched around the corner, to the man’s gentle voice ringing out and the children laughing as he shifts his accent like warm river-water through the lines. Jack’s breath comes out in startling bursts and his face is still burning a bright red when Medda walks up to him and taps him on the shoulder.

He lets out a high-pitched scream, his eyebrows narrowing in anger that quickly disappears when he turns around to face his fake attacker. “Sorry miss Medda, ya scared me” he states trying to scrub the blush off his cheeks with his fists. 

“Whats gotcha so red darlin?” Medda asks, leaning against the wall. When Jack says nothing but glances over his shoulder, Medda follows his eye-line into the room and nods. “Ohhh” 

Jack rubs his shoulder sheepishly, “I ran into a wall” he admits, hoping that his injury would be enough distraction. When it doesn’t work, he follows Medda back to his office and collects his pay.

“Say Miss Medda...D’ya think Ise could come back next week?”

An almost mischievous smile spreads across Medda’s lips as she carefully dabs perfume onto her wrists and neck. “How comes sweetie? Is it because ya need the money or because of that handsome boy you just saw?”

“Money! Definitely the money! Need money!” Jack rushes out, chuckling nervously as he heads to the door and scampers out the hospital and down the Manhattan streets until the hospital and the angel that it contains is far behind him.

Trembling legs slow, and Jack fixes his clothes and takes a steady breath; the cold of the morning had been replaced with the dim heat of the afternoon. As Jack wanders the streets he tries not to let his mind wander back to the man in the hospital with his butter-rich smile and the soft glow of sunshine in his eyes. 

It's night by the time Cora gets home. She turns the key and pushes the door open. Jumping, when Jack leaps across the couch yelling “I SAWS DA CUTEST MAN TODAY!” 

The words seem to fall on deaf ears as she tugs her headphones out and lets them hang tiredly across her shoulders as she disrobes, tossing her backpack and coat onto the nearest shoe caddy. “Da fuck ya yellin bout, Kelly? She asks, kicking off her boots and wandering, bare-footed into the kitchen. 

She takes in her brother’s wide eyes and hyper appearance- eyes following him as he hops up and down like a Jackrabbit. It takes the boiling of the kettle for Jack to calm down enough for him to use sentences and words instead of long, rambling sounds. 

“So’s ya metta guy huh?” Cora finally asks once Jack has stopped talking. She cups the chipped mug in her hands as he nods so hard he has to grab a hold of the counter to stop himself from collapsing. 

“Yuh-huh, width a smile dat spreads like butter. And eyes dat shine with a strength of a thousand gemstones and the most gorgeous freckles!” 

Cora chuckles, leaving the kitchen to wander into her room to change out of her uniform. “Was the jump over the couch necessary kelly?” she asks, unable to stop the grin that spreads across her face. Once comfortable in her pyjamas, she allows Jack to push through the door and settle on her bed. 

“Yeah..I’se think Ise pulled a muscle” Jack rubs his leg, wincing overdramatically. 

“Can’t pull whatcha don’t have jack” Cora teases, once again padding across the apartment to grab Tupperware out of the fridge. 

“HEY!” he yells, sprinting after her. He punches her softly in the arm, poking his tongue out at her

Laughing, Cora punches him carefully in the arm and pulls on her shoes yet again. “I gotta go take some food up to Racer. I’ll see ya soon” and with a kiss on his cheek, Cora’s gone. 

Alone, Jack settles on the couch with his eyes closed and allows himself to wander. Maybe the hospital wasn’t so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where the last chapter ended: Alone, Jack settles on the couch with his eyes closed and allows himself to wander. Maybe the hospital wasn’t so bad after all.

It's the screaming of an alarm that pulls David out of a much-needed slumber. He shoots up, eyes blurred with sleep before glancing around at the shapes, highlighted by the early morning sun of the on-call room window. He doesn’t remember falling asleep or even how he got into the room but he knows his back is thankful for it. 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he thinks about the previous night. Three surgeries back to back and then four hours of paperwork had sucked the energy from his body and that's the last thing he remembers. Tossing finished paperwork over to the side of the nurse's station and sending a final goodnight text to his mom. 

The alarm clock on the side of the bed has fallen quiet and Davey flops back into the bed, allowing the last wisps of sleep to tug at his eyelids. They close for a few seconds before his phone vibrates. With a groan he squints at the caller ID, mentally cursing himself for not wearing his glasses. 

“Hello? Doctor Jacobs.” He settles on the formality, hoping that it's not a telemarketer. There's silence on the other end of the phone and he sighs, settling his glasses on his face. With another glance, he checks down at his phone and smiles “it's me mama” 

He chuckles when he hears his mother giggle. “Morning sweetheart. You’re up early, anywho, I just wanted to check on you to see how your jobs goi-” 

“Mama I’m okay. How are you and pa?” Davey cuts her off as he fixes his hospital scrubs.

“We’re okay sweetheart” He listens to his mother settle into her chair, he recognises the squeaking of the old springs through the receiver. “Les didn't sleep so well last night. I think it's because he was missing his ach gadol.”

“Well, his big brother will be home after another twelve-hour shift.” There's a hint of mundane in Davey's voice as he smooths his messy bed hair down and fixes his glasses. “I gotta go mama or I’m gonna be late” 

“Make sure you eat!” Esther clicks her tongue when David mumbles out a reply “and stop mumbling, how are you gotta attract a partner when they can't hear you, David? Your father and I brought you and your siblings up to speak clearly. Didn't we?” 

He sighs, rubbing a hand against his temple. He adores his family and doesn't mind still sleeping in his childhood bedroom, the walls now stripped of posters and painted a pristine white and a thin, single bed being passed down to his little brother and being replaced by a large comfortable double bed. He doesn't mind still being his mothers' little boy still, but he just wishes that she'd stop mentioning him finding a partner. 

He's not exactly the most desirable partner. What man- or women for that point would want a sleep-deprived, overworked, underpaid and underappreciated paediatric surgeon with an anxiety disorder? Nobody. That's who. 

“David enayim shelli. You’re spiralling again.” Esther's voice had gone calm, with no hint of teasing or pressure on her words. Just a gentle, motherly voice worried about her son's silence. 

“Sorry, mom. I really need to go.” Davey gives his phone a smile as he pulls on his shoes, his hand hovering on the door handle separating him and the start of the day. His voice drops to just above a whisper “Ima, ani ohev otach” 

“Love you too son” and with that, the line goes dead. David slides his phone into the back pocket of his scrubs and leaves the on-call room. Sensible shoes squeak slightly against the polished floor but stop when he falls into his normal footfall, he stalks over to the nurse's station and smiles. 

“Morning Jen.” He waves at one of the nurses as she walks in, civilian clothes bright and spunky, standing out against the pale light of the ward. Clyde Barrow ward had been his home for nearly four months and he had quickly risen through the ranks to become a head surgeon. 

They work in a comfortable silence as the children stirr to machines beeping and the call of ‘nil-by-mouth’ for some and small plates of toast with the crusts cut off for others. Davey scanned his chart, another three surgeries planned and then a board meeting before he’s finally discharged for lunch and once he's back another two surgeries and home. With a deep breath and a smile, he rubs his eyes under his glasses and sets off with his day. 

The first surgery is simple, he’s performed it countless times. A child, Elmer aged five, has fallen off a climbing frame and broke his arm in three places. A simple metal rod needed to be inserted to hold the bones still while they settle and heal. 

He scans the notes one more time before tucking them under his arm and pushing open the door to Elmer’s ward. “Heya kiddo.” 

“Davey!” Elmer scrambles into a sitting position, bouncing on his knees with a cast arm settled on the pillow in his lap. He throws a free arm around Davey and squeezes as tight as his small arm can around the taller man. 

Elmer’s almost infectious joy makes Davey chuckle as he perches on the end of his bed, the child sitting so eagerly in his lap. “Did you sleep okay kiddo? Where's your mom?”

“Matka went to take my siblings to school. I slept good” 

Davey nods and places the child next to him, carefully flicking through his notes. “And no breakfast this morning right? Or water either” he pats him on the head when he shakes it. “Good kid.” He sits with the young boy, listening to him ramble on about schools and classes before the door opens and his mother returns with tired eyes.

“Mrs Kasprzak, here sit” Davey discards the folder onto Elmer's table and pulls a seat over to his bedside, where his mother smiles gratefully and leans back against the padded cushions. With his mother present, he explains to Elmer the surgery and how long it should take. He watches the specs of fear disappear from his wide brown eyes. 

“But I'm gonna miss crutchie readin’” He pouts at David, struggling to fold his arms across his chest. His pout drops, replaced by a look of angry confusion before he blinks in defeat and turns to face Davey again. 

“We’ll get you back for it. Come on then kiddo. The quicker we can get you finished, the quicker you can listen to crutchie read.” 

Elmer’s wheeled down to the operation room and Dave disappears behind a curtain to change scrubs. “Thanks, Jen” he gives the nurse in charge a gentle smile before stepping into the O.R.

Gentle music hums from behind Davey as he works in a stunted silence. The beeping of the machines are a distant buzz and the only things that exist right now are his tools and Elmer’s fractured arm. 

It takes about an hour, but finally, the last stitch is threaded through and a fresh cast is placed to keep the wounds clean and dry. It strips the gown off and tosses the bloodied gloves into the nearby trashcan before returning to his mother. 

“Mrs Kasprzak” 

She opens a tired eye and smiles. “How's my son doc?” 

“Doing wonderfully, the surgery was a success. He's just in recovery and they’ll bring him back when he's awake.” He smiles slightly at the gratefully relaxed look on her face and with a soft nod leaves her to settle once again back into the chair, relief washing the stress out her shoulders. 

David flits from person to person and floats from surgery to surgery like a bird, flying quickly to try and gather twigs. Hours tick past slowly and sleep lay heavy on his eyes when he walks out of the final surgery. With a sigh, he strips the blood-stained gown and is happy to change back into street clothes. Patting down his pockets, he snatches his book out the corner of his locker and with a few quick waves and nods goodbye, leaves Pulitzer General. He’s free from the blinding lights of the operating theatre and the still air filled with paint. 

There had been a light splattering of rain while he was cramped into the small room, it painted the sidewalk under his feet in dark browns and an almost magical smell of late afternoon raindrops falling off tree leafs and soaking into the grass. He manages a smile, tucking his copy of Pride and Prejudice under his arm. His feet drum carefully against the wet sidewalk as blue eyes scan the streets. 

Coffee is what he needs. Stress and fatigue had tired his body and drained the energy out his muscles. Tired hands and sore eyes scan through the streets for the nearest coffee shop. If he lets his mind wander enough while he strolls slowly, he can just taste a double espresso melting slowly on his tongue and pounding his blood faster around his system. Sure, the logical side of his brain screams at him to pick up fruit but he craves the quick hit.

The sign captures his attention like a beacon of light in the darkness. He’s almost unable to contain the smile that spreads slightly across his face as he scans the large windows.   
'Bake the news' stands out like a polished gem at the bottom of a murky sea. People gather quietly at tables, eyes alight with comfort and the distantly soft glow of candles under soft lighting. Davey steps onto the front step and pushes the door open. 

A bell chimes quietly overhead when the door opens and clothes. He’s instantly swept into a calm sea of baking bread, melting chocolate, warm coffees and the smell of old books. With a soft sigh, his eyes drift up to the menu; it's written in neatly printed chalk, a doodled outline of chocolate chips falling into cookie batter is plastered as real as a picture at either side. Everything sounds and looks so good on display, indecision swells in his stomach and Davey takes another long glance at the menu, eyes trailing over the loops and curls. 

“May I help you?” The voice rings out as clear as early morning bird song and his eyes float down and every word he’s ever spoken leaves his mind. 

He stands blinking with his mouth slightly agape. There's an angel standing in front of him with soft, flowing golden-blonde curls frame a soft round race and highlight mint-green eyes. Freckles paint themselves like stars across her round cheeks and the dents of scars across her left eye and down her chin flow into the mountains of her face like gently running streams. She blinks up at him with confusion floating as free as the first winter snowflakes. “I-” 

“S’kay, take ya time.” she gives him a careful smile and turns back to stacking chocolate muffins into a nearby clear counter. A machine beeps, barely audible, but the woman turns, the air catching her curls and wrapping them around her shoulders. She pours a coffee, walking off and smiling when she settles the mug on a nearby table. Stunned, Davey keeps his eyes on the menu, watching the words blur and twist as his heartbeat quickens. 

He can tell that there's blood filling his cheeks with a dark blush and he can tell his hands are trembling in his pockets. The woman returns and he drifts eyes back over to her. He catches her smile and he struggles to give one back. “What would you like?” She asks again, leaning against the counter. 

He glances at the menu again.

“A black coffee!” 

“Okay” 

“A-and a muffin.” 

“Okay. we’ve got some fresh out. It’ll be about an hour.” 

Davey nods and quickly scampers out of the line and over to the third table by the window. He sighs slightly as he settles against the soft pillows. A swirl of vanilla laces from the candle sitting burning on his table. With his book open he can hide his rapidly reddening face from the eyes of the world around him. He blinks down at the words, trying hard to focus on them but his mind pulls his eyes away. 

He peaks over his glasses at the woman, watching how she flits and works around behind the counter. Slender fingers move daintily to settle the muffin on the plate and carefully place his coffee on a tray. He stands a little too quickly, grabbing a hold of the table when she looks away before walking up. 

“Thank you…” He glances at her name badge “Cora.” 

She seems surprised when he knows her name and a soft fluttering of a rose petal blush shimmers its way across her cheeks and nose, “you’re welcome-” Her hand gestures, a slight prompt for him to introduce himself. 

“David.” He blurts out, almost snatching the tray off the counter out of shyness. The cup rattles and coffee waves its way against the sides of the cup like angry waves. He grips the tray and releases his breath when the coffee settles and he straightens. “People call me Davey though” 

Cora nods, pushing her hair off her face and into a ponytail. “Nice.” 

“Yeah..” He replies awkwardly before looking back over at the table he had chosen and scurrying back. 

For a while he squints down at his coffee, lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn't even like black coffee. It tastes too bitter and it feels like it sucks the saliva from his mouth. Why did he even order black coffee? Davey debates asking for a different coffee, or leaving it on the table while he scampers out when Cora disappears outback. 

But it's his first time here, there are not that many people around. She’d notice the still full cup and empty space. It’ll be awkward if he just appears again, another day, and sticks to the routine of full cups and empty seats. 

So, with a grimace, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a slow slip. The coffee bounds his bloodstream and it instantly makes him feel sick. It's almost painfully easy to put the cup down and focus back on the words in his book. Maybe if he distracts himself then maybe the bitterness will melt away and the warmth of melting chocolate from his muffin will make things slightly better. He sighs, sticking to the steps of reading, drinking before stealing a piece of muffin trying his best to keep his face neutral. 

When the coffee cup is half empty, he looks up and smiles. Cora’s still behind the counter, a cloth in her hand and a spray bottle of cleaner balanced on the corner. Her hand moves in quick, sweeping circles and if he focuses, the sound of her humming can be heard under the distracting Manhattan traffic and the low chatter of people at other tables. 

Time seems to stop whenever they make eye contact and his breath seems to die in his throat. He's Not sure if it's distant panic or the pulse of caffeine that's making his heart rate spike but he closes his book and quickly disposes a handful of bills onto the tray in the corner of his table before leaving, giving Cora a small smile as he stalks past. 

The air is cold and starkly different from the warm shop but yet beads of sweat swirl on his forehead and he can feel them rolling down the back of his beck. Taking in deep breaths, Davey checks his watch “shit!” 

The work back to work is quicker than he would have hoped. It's a flurry to pull on hospital scrubs and toss his book back into his locker without knocking out his bookmark. 

As he sits in the meeting, leg bouncing idly under the table he doesn't focus on the words, he lets his mind wander back to the coffee shop. 

With his sweet smells.

And its bubbly yet calm atmosphere. 

And its angel behind the counter with the dust of the stars in her eyes.


End file.
